A Purrfect Alibi

Millie ignored the cats’ meows as we funneled out onto the second-floor landing. Flora was there, dusting a bench that sat underneath the window. She gave our dusty clothes a look of disapproval and then tried to dust Mom off with her feather duster.

“What have you people been doing up in the attic? It’s dirty up there and I have enough work as it is,” Flora said.

“We were just looking for something.” Millie pushed the duster away as Flora turned it on her.

“Well, I hope you don’t expect me to clean up there. I don’t do attics. Hard enough to keep the regular house clean. And I hope you don’t expect me to be cleaning the outbuildings either,” Flora huffed.

“Outbuildings?” I asked.

Flora nodded. “And don’t you listen to any of those crazy guests either. I keep the bathrooms clean as a whistle. I don’t know why that crystal ball lady thinks she needed to resort to using the outhouse.”

“Esther? You saw her in the outhouse?” Mom raised her brows at me. “Is that where you saw her, Josie?”

“No, I saw her near the barn. That’s pretty far away.” I turned to Flora. “Are you sure you saw her in there?”

“Do you think I’m blind?” Flora pushed the thick glasses up on her nose. “Just because I wear these doesn’t mean I can’t see. Like right now, I can see Myron Remington as plain as day.”

We all swiveled to look out the window. Flora was right. Myron was standing by the side of an old shed. He was looking around as if assessing the grounds. My gut clenched. Why would he be doing that? It was almost as if he were scoping out the place, trying to figure out what he would do with the property when he seized it for non-payment of the loan. I could just imagine visions of condos or a strip mall dancing through his head.

Mom, Millie and I clustered around the small window, watching as he looked out toward the ocean, then back at the shed. We jumped back when his gaze drifted to the house.

“What is he doing out there?” Mom asked.

“Looks like he’s checking out the grounds. Maybe he thinks you need to get the landscaping done, Josie,” Millie said.

“Maybe.” I hoped that was all it was, but the way he was looking around I didn’t think so.

“Well, I don’t like him showing up here all the time. I mean, it’s not like he bought the place, he just gave you a loan. I have a good mind to run down there and tell him so.”

Millie started toward the door, but I put my hand on her arm to hold her back.

“Maybe it’s better if we just let him go about his business. This will all blow over after the killer is caught and these guests figure out they can’t talk to Jed.” I hoped.

Millie sighed. “Fine. I suppose you’re right. All the more reason for us to figure out who the killer is before Myron comes up with a reason to renege on the loan.”

“Don’t let him get mud in here.” Flora’s glasses reflected light from the window as she turned to me. “I just spent a good hour cleaning up the mud one of them traipsed in. It’s enough cleaning up after the guests, but you need to do something about keeping the whole town from traipsing in!”

The whole town? “I’m sorry about that, but Myron did give me a loan and I want to stay on his good side.”

“Yeah him too, but he’s not the one who traipsed mud in the back entry. That was a mess to clean up,” Flora said.

“Well then who did?” Millie asked.

“Anita Pendragon. You ask me, that nosey reporter is up to something.”

Marlowe rolled her eyes at the backs of Josie, Rose and Millie as they exited the attic. “I guess they didn’t get our drift.”

“Don’t be too harsh,” Nero said. “Josie did understand we wanted her up here. They just didn’t get the part about the shoes being missing.”

Marlowe sighed. “I suppose we can’t expect too much. They don’t have our superior skills of deduction so wouldn’t know the shoes had been there.”

“To be fair, we did have Jed to tell us that. I’m not sure we would have figured that out on our own, either.” Nero secretly enjoyed putting Marlowe in her place sometimes, but fair was fair. He might have been able to sniff out the fact that the shoes had once been in there, but he was sure Marlowe wouldn’t have. But without Jed to lead them up here and tell them about the shoes, he was certain that he wouldn’t have even thought of it.

“I don’t know about that Josie. She seems a little dense.” Jed tapped the side of his head. “Doesn’t catch on fast and she didn’t even lock the door when they left. Not like my girl, Esther. Now that one’s a keeper. Much nicer than that shrew I married.”

Jed’s face got all pinched, apparently with memories of his dead wife. Was he wondering if the shrew had killed him? If she had, could Nero prove that somehow? He glanced around at the stacks of boxes and papers. Maybe the murder weapon was in one of these boxes and he could sniff it out. Or there might be an article in one of the papers showing Helena Biddeford unusually happy after her husband’s death.